


Puppy Love

by coffee_and_cardamom



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon Related, Canon Universe, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Puppy Love, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29020350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_and_cardamom/pseuds/coffee_and_cardamom
Summary: "I know you. You've loved every dog you've met since you were two."A study of three generations of Strand love for dogs.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes & Owen Strand, Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Owen Strand & TK Strand
Comments: 11
Kudos: 96





	Puppy Love

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Some tooth-rotting fluff that I wrote as I was re-watching the first season in preperation for the second. Also my first foray into this fandom, so please let me know what you think! :)
> 
> Thanks as always, to my beta [ Xue Lang, ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xue_Lang) who took a gander at this, even when she doesn't watch the show :P 
> 
> (Mildly) Spoilery Warning: The fic does begin with the death of a dog - there's nothing graphic, but I'm adding a note here just to be safe! Please take care as you read :)
> 
> For De, who let me borrow his dog for this fic, and for R, who let me base the OC off of her. Hope you like this, bitches <3

**PUPPY LOVE** ****

Owen's first dog is seventeen years old when he breathes his last.

Bernie is a St. Bernard, old and wise, and he should be panting and drooling, but he's not. Owen, aged fourteen himself, has never lived a day without him. His heart clenches. His dog is the one lying still and quiet, but it feels like he's the one who can't breathe— _no,_ he thinks, _not Bernie. Please, God, please._

God doesn't answer, of course. 

And when Owen breaks down in the middle of the impromptu funeral while they bury him in the backyard, no one is there to hold him except his mom. She kisses his forehead and allows her own tears to seep into his hair.

A year later, they move out of Santa Monica. 

New York is loud and dirty and filled with people, and even as Owen finds himself loving it, he also finds himself crying into his pillows at night. There should be a wet nose poking at his legs in this tiny bed, a loud bark to wake him up, and a strict, no-nonsense attitude cutting through the throngs of people to investigate this new home.

It'll be decades before Owen's heart heals enough to bring home another friend like that.

* * *

The first dog TK meets is a golden retriever who flops on to the ground like she's still a baby. He's just past two, a babbling toddler, full of energy and mischief, and he gives Owen a terrible fright when he lets out a shrill squeak in the middle of the park.

"TK!"

Owen's heart is pounding, mind already racing through the worst case scenarios, and he jumps to his feet. The dog park was supposed to be safe, dammit, TK wasn't—

TK is staring up at the Golden Retriever, his brown eyes wide, his lower lip wobbling in fear. 

The dog is twice his size. She growls once, twice. 

TK whimpers, pulling back. Owen is just about to yank his son close to him, when she whines and then flops on to her belly. TK stares down at her, lips still caught in a pout. He's startled, but not scared. 

Owen waits, the lines of his body tense, ready to pick him up the second he shows further signs of fear or sorrow.

His boy, though—Owen really should stop underestimating him, because TK suddenly smiles and falls on to his knees next to the dog. He reaches out tiny fingers to pet her nose. She licks him, drawing a shriek of laughter from him.

"Hello!" he declares, "Doggie, hello!"

There's something tight and swollen in his chest, and Owen blinks rapidly before he moves close to TK.

"Who's this, kid?" he asks.

TK laughs again as the dog covers his face with slobber. "Doggie, Daddy!"

"I see that," Owen drops down next to him. He reaches out a still-shaking hand to ruffle TK's hair, steadying himself with a deep inhale of the fresh grass and his son's baby shampoo.

TK accidently hits the dog’s nose with a small fist. The Golden Retriever growls. He startles back, pushing into Owen. 

Owen chuckles, rubbing his back soothingly. "Like this, see?" He pets her forehead with gentle fingers.

TK observes him. Sticking out the tip of a pink tongue, he reaches out and pets her forehead. The dog hums, a rumble deep in her chest, and TK giggles.

"Goldie!"

Owen looks up to see a short, curly-haired woman come to a stop in front of them. Her dark skin is glistening with sweat, her hair pulled back, and she leans over to clutch at her knees.

"Don't you run off like that," she pants.

The dog—Goldie—gets up and whines. The woman narrows her eyes, and says, "Don't you gimme those puppy dog eyes now."

"Doggie!" TK yells. 

"TK—" 

"Yes she is, sweetie," the woman laughs. 

“She yours?” Owen says. 

“My brother’s,” she replied. "Is she bothering you?" She’s looking at TK but directs the question at Owen.

He shakes his head. "Not at all. She's precious. TK really likes her, don't you kiddo?"

TK nods enthusiastically and claps for good measure. The woman chuckles again, and bends down to pet her dog.

"Her name is Goldie," she says "And she's a big baby. Aren’t you, Goldie, yes you are," she croons the last bit, and TK giggles again.

"Gowl-di," he says carefully. Leaning he presses a quick kiss to her nose, and says again, "Gowl-di."

"He's adorable," the woman mutters to Owen. 

They watch Goldie lick at TK's face and TK kiss her back. Owen's chest swells again, his heart growing three times its usual size at the sound of his son's unfettered, joyful laugh.

"Yes, he is," he murmurs back. "Yes, he is."

* * *

Buttercup is a hot, furry weight against his legs as Owen leans back against the oak tree. Summer’s drawing to a close, but Austin’s still far hotter than he’s used to. Sweat beads the back of his neck, even at this time of day. He grunts and picks up the water bottle lying on the blanket he’s splayed out on. 

A loud peal of childish laughter catches his attention. “El, catch!” TK’s voice follows right on cue, and Owen’s lips curve into a smile. 

Two dark pigtails dance in the air as Elena whirls on short, plump legs to stare up at her Daddy. His four-year-old granddaughter looks bemused as TK gently rolls the ball towards her. It tumbles to a stop. She bends down to stop it and pick it up with her hand. 

“Now me,” TK gestures at her to throw it back at him. “Come on, kiddo.” 

She snuffles her little nose and shakes her head, holding the ball to her chest. “Why?” she asks. 

“That’s how you play catch,” TK tells her. 

She looks down at the ball and then back up at TK again. “‘S stupid,” she declares. 

Owen holds back a snort at TK’s expression, absently scratching the scruff of Buttercup’s neck. The urge to help his son out is still there, an ever-present itch at the back of his mind. He ignores it—he has to let TK do things himself sooner or later, even if that something is learning how to parent his highly independent, highly intelligent daughter. 

“Don’t you wanna play with your Daddy, sweetheart?” TK cajoles. 

Elena shrugs. “No!” she declares, and kicks the ball to the ground, chasing after it. 

This time, Owen does bark out a laugh. 

TK turns to him, face sour. “What’re you laughing at?” 

Owen offers him the water as a peace offering. TK grabs the bottle and gulps down a mouthful before splashing some on to his face. 

“Wait till she makes friends of her own,” he tells his son. “She won’t even look at you then.” 

“Like she spends so much time with me now,” TK mutters. He’s watching his baby girl run after the ball, features downturned into a frown that Owen recognizes. It’s the frown of every parent feeling like their kid is growing up too fast. 

He reaches a hand out to squeeze the back of TK’s neck. “She still loves you, kid,” he murmurs. “When she’s hurt or scared, it’s you she looks for.” 

TK heaves a loud, tired sigh. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” He makes a face. “Be nice if she remembered me when she’s having fun though.” 

Owen chuckles. “Yeah.” 

Before he can say anything else, Buttercup sniffs and gets to his feet. Hackles raised, he lets out a short bark of warning before taking off in Elena’s direction. 

“Buttercup?”

TK jumps up, shoulders hunched with worry, as a huge, brown beagle slams into Elena, both of them crashing to the ground and rolling over. Elena shrieks in terror, and Owen’s spine stiffens at the sound. 

“Elena!” TK yells, running towards her. 

Owen follows, whistling for Buttercup, who growls and snaps at the other dog’s neck. 

“Back, boy!” TK pulls him back, and bends down to untangle his little girl from the heap of limbs and paws. Elena whimpers with the dog, but holds her arms out to her Daddy, burying her face in the crook of his neck. 

“Down, boy,” Owen rubs the back of a still-growling Buttercup. The beagle’s paws are bent at a weird shape, and it takes him a minute to realize what he sees. “She’s hurt,” he murmurs to TK. 

Elena, whose sniffles are slowing down, looks up at him. “Gra’pa?” she hiccups. 

Owen leans in to kiss her forehead. “Hey there, butterfly. You’re okay, we got you.”

She cranes her neck to see the still-whimpering beagle on the floor. “She hurt?”

“Yeah honey. See how her leg is shaped like this?” Owen gets on his knees, wincing. His joints are not what they used to be. Still, he leans over, and gently holds treats out to the dog, careful to avoid eye contact. “That means her leg’s been hurt.” 

Elena kicks at TK’s hip. He sets her down reluctantly. “Poor doggie,” she declares. She reaches out stubby fingers to pet the beagle’s forehead, and then leans in to kiss it. The dog whimpers, but a long, pink tongue darts out to lick at her cheeks. She scruffs up her nose, wiping the wetness away. 

Owen barely notices TK’s shoulders relax at the sight. His mind is decades away, replaying the sight of another toddler petting another dog, the same head of dark hair leaning over ruffled fur that was golden instead of white and brown. 

“Dad?” 

Owen startles, and shakes his head. “What?” 

“We should take her to the vet, get her checked out.” 

“Can we keep her, Daddy?” Elena asks. She’s on her knees, her head resting on the beagle’s trembling back. Next to them, Buttercup pants up at them, dark eyes wide, ever a companion in Elena’s plans.

“We dunno if she belongs to anyone, sweetheart,” TK says. 

“She isn’t wearing a collar,” Owen says helpfully. 

“Please, Daddy?” 

For the third time today, Owen has to swallow his laughter. His lips still curve up when Elena waddles to her dad and reaches out short arms to hug him around the knees. She blinks her dark eyes at him, and his boy, ever a sucker for pretty eyes, gives in without further argument. 

“Just like your Papi,” he mutters, picking her up. “Know exactly how to get your way, don’t you darling?” Elena snuggles into his side, laying her head on his shoulder. “He isn’t gonna be happy about this,” TK warns her, but she dimples sweetly at him, and he sighs. 

“Don’t front, son,” Owen says, yanking his phone out. “You love her.” He rubs the beagle’s back and dials Buttercup’s vet’s office. 

The beagle turns out to be a stray, with no chip or collar. They name her Bernadette, and Owen has to take a moment to soothe an old scar that suddenly aches again. 

Carlos is less enthusiastic than TK is, but doesn’t protest when Owen dumps a bunch of Buttercup’s old toys into his car. 

“Papi!” Elena throws herself at his legs. 

“Why?” Carlos grunts at Owen as he ruffles Elena’s hair. 

“Runs in the family,” Owen replies. Carlos rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest, turning around to kiss TK in greeting. 

Elena chatters away at Bernie. The beagle is groggy from the medication, but still licks her cheek, stealing a shriek of laughter from her. Owen’s heart clenches at the memory of another dog, from another lifetime, all loud barks and enthusiastic licks. 

He rolls Buttercup’s leash in his hand, and feels every inch of the soft fur brushing up against his shin. He looks up at the sky and thinks: _Welcome home, Bernie._

**-end-**


End file.
